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The tearoom owner looked exactly like the passport photo that Namjoon had received, from shoulder-length wavy hair to watchful eyes. She was sweeping the floor when Namjoon entered, bringing in with him a fleeting gust of winter air. As he closed the door, the scent of tea leaves and mulberry enveloped him, flooding him with memories: his sister's comfort drink was mulberry tea.
"Good morning, Ms. Hwang. I'm from the agency."
She straightened up and put the broom aside. "Hello," she said. Her voice was husky and soothing, almost hypnotic. "Did they give you your own uniform?"
He nodded. "The agency thanks you for your cooperation."
"No need." The tearoom owner gestured at a door at the corner. "The bathroom is that way."
As Namjoon navigated his way past high-backed chairs and tables clothed in white, Hwang moved toward the door. He happened to glance at the floor, and saw that she cast no shadows. Surprised, he blinked, and shadows appeared next to her feet, moving along with her. Namjoon walked on, but his mind was still churning.
Okay, that was a neat illusion. But still an illusion. Namjoon worked for a regular intelligence agency. It wasn't something out of a Hollywood movie, where agents in black suits struck deals with supernatural beings. His eyes got tricked by the lamplight, that was all.
Less than three minutes later, he stood behind the cashier's desk. His uniform was the same as Hwang's: white apron over pale green shirt and trousers. She explained his duties to him; there were only a few of them, which would give him ample opportunity to observe the tailor's shop across the street.
Soon the tearoom's two employees arrived. After they greeted Hwang politely, Namjoon introduced himself. All the employees knew was that the usual cashier was taking a few days off because of urgent family matters, and Namjoon was the substitute. The employees didn't need to know about the tailor's shop, where members of a drug-trafficking ring supposedly met with clients.
For months the agency had been tracking down the drug traffickers. The tailor's shop was the first reliable lead they'd had. Namjoon and another agent - stationed at the second floor of the empty building next door - were tasked with recording the comings and goings of visitors.
At ten o'clock sharp, Hwang changed the door sign from Closed to Open. Namjoon adjusted his collars - stiff from being too new - and returned to the cashier's desk, ready for whatever the day might bring.
*
Happy birthday, Seokjinnie! So sorry Mom and Dad can't come over. We hope you're having a terrific day.
Hey, hyung! How does it feel to be twenty-five? Haha. Don't forget to drink lots of water!
Seokjin-ah, good luck with your studies! Save me some of that birthday cake, yeah?
Seokjin clicked on the messages one by one, vaguely wondering if this was the LINE version of Twitter doomscrolling. On reaching the last message, he tossed his phone onto the pillow. Getting up from the bed, he gave his eyes - dry from staring at various screens for hours - a quick rub.
Either the afternoon was getting colder or the loft's heater broke down again. Seokjin didn't really care either way, but not because nobody came to celebrate his birthday. Everyone he knew was an adult living their own life. He didn't expect them to drop everything and celebrate his birthday with him in person, nor should they.
The reason he felt deflated was that he'd bought a birthday cake yesterday, and now he'd be the only one enjoying it.
His birthday had been pretty dull so far. He'd finished all his assignments before three p.m., a tiny miracle for a graduate student. He'd also passed the current highest levels in all the games he played. His friends were away for the weekend, and he was in no mood to wander out in the near-freezing weather. And so being stuck in the loft had become the only option.
That cake had better be scrumptious, he mused as he took it out of the fridge and set it down on a table.
The cake in question was pandan-flavored, with chocolate chips and strawberries on top. He had chosen it for its size, which, considering that he was eating it alone, had become a bit of a waste. Seokjin stuck a single candle in the middle of the cake, then lit it with a lighter. His ex had been a smoker, ditched the habit just before they broke up, and left the lighter as a memento or something.
Standing back from the table, Seokjin saw his future unspooling before him. It promised him more of everything: more lonely birthdays, exes, and well-meaning messages. That wasn't unbearable, per se, but it was - there was that word again - dull. Repetitive.
Closing his eyes, he thought: For my birthday this year, I wish for something different. Doesn't have to be new or show-stopping. Just something different. Yes? Okay. Thank you.
He opened his eyes, blew at the candle - and the loft tilted sideways, knocking him off-balance and onto the floor.
*
From Namjoon's vantage point of view, the entrance to the tailor's shop was clearly visible. Even with the tearoom employees bustling about, he could see everyone who came into and left the narrow, brick-red building. He could even see someone behind the glass doors, sitting and reading from what looked like a tablet.
An hour after the tearoom opened, a man scuttled into the tailor's, then left again in a hurry. Soon afterward, a blue sedan drew into the parking space nearby. Two bulky men climbed out, their faces obscured behind sunglasses.
A woman got out of the passenger side, and the men held the tailor's door open for her. They stayed inside for about thirty minutes. When they came out, Namjoon hoped his partner got a clear view of their faces from the building next door.
The day flowed on. No one else visited the tailor's for hours. Meanwhile, at the tearoom, customers kept streaming in; the air rang with laughter and early 2010's ballads from the speakers. The atmosphere was so sedative-like that, once or twice, Namjoon had to actively pull himself back to alertness.
At half past three, the customers began to leave. At five minutes to four, the tearoom was empty. An employee turned down the music's volume, and Namjoon slipped away for a bathroom break.
When he returned to the tearoom, the other employees were nowhere in sight. No sound came from the speakers, not even that of static. Strangest of all: out on the streets, no vehicle went passing by.
Namjoon took a cautious step toward the nearest table. Something else was different, and it took him a while to figure it out. The fragrance in the air was no longer that of tea leaves or mulberry. This scent was more similar to -
"How do you like working here, Agent Kim?"
He swirled around. Hwang was smiling at him from behind the table, that watchful gaze fixed on him. Namjoon could have sworn he had been alone in the tearoom just three seconds ago.
"It's all right, I suppose," he muttered. "Everyone is so nice."
Her smile widened. "I'm glad to hear that. Say, did you happen to notice the name of this tearoom?"
The hypnotic voice. The tearoom's atmosphere that worked on him like a sedative, even with the noises of the customers around him. The fact that the streets outside were still completely devoid of humans and vehicles.
"Love at Four?" he replied, the English phrase rolling easily off his tongue.
"Yes. And now it's one minute past four."
Hwang tapped at her wristwatch. She was no longer smiling, and Namjoon realized what the fragrance now reminded him of: roses. Not one his favorite flowers, and there were no roses inside the tearoom - so where did the fragrance come from?
"Time to meet the love of your life, Agent Kim."
"What? What are you - "
A dark curtain fell between him and the world, and Namjoon's feet no longer touched the ground.
*
The first thing he saw when he opened his eyes was the cake. It sat on a round, knee-high table, with a lone candle stuck on the frosting. Birthday cake, he thought. It sure looks like one. But where was the birthday person?
Carefully, checking if he was hurting anywhere, Namjoon sat up. As his body adapted to the new, cooler temperature, he took in more of his surroundings. This loft was certainly not his, nor had he ever been here before.
And yet all the pictures on the far wall were of him. In one picture, he and an older couple - parents? - were laughing at the camera. In another, he and another young man - whose smile was bright like the sun - held up V-signs. None of their faces were familiar to him.
Legs shaky, heart banging against his ribs, Namjoon got to his feet. After he made sure he wasn't on the verge of collapsing, he walked over to a desk. Scattered on it were books, a laptop, a brown leather wallet, and scientific papers bound together with paperclips. He selected a book at random - a textbook on fluid mechanics - and opened it. On the first page was his name, scrawled in his own handwriting.
The person who lived here didn't just have Namjoon's face and name. They also had his habit of pushing the bookmark deep into the book, instead of leaving it to stick out at the top of the pages.
He dropped the book, staggered back, and took long, deep breaths. He couldn't even tell himself he was dreaming because everything was too real - the rough feel of the book's cover on his fingers, the blare of car horns from the streets outside. After his short conversation with Hwang, something had happened. Something that hurled him into a world where Kim Namjoon was a student or teacher instead of a government agent.
What else changed? Was the stakeout still ongoing? Was the original owner of this loft currently at Love at Four?
Of course. Where else could they be? Namjoon had to return to the tearoom as swiftly as possible. If this loft's original owner suddenly found themself in an unknown place, they might be more than confused. They might become angry and loud, thus jeopardizing the stakeout - and the life of Namjoon's partner.
After a moment's hesitation, he took the wallet and pocketed it. If the tearoom was kilometers away, Namjoon would need to pay for taxi fares. I'll return the money later, he promised to himself, and rushed out of the loft.
*
More shaken than he'd ever been in his life, Seokjin ran out of the tearoom.
When the world tilted and he fell to the floor, the loft vanished. It wasn't even gradual; one second he was looking at his window, the next he was sitting between two tables. Before him was a mahogany desk, with a cashier machine and small glass jars on it. Although the temperature was warmer than in his loft, gooseflesh broke out along his arms.
Seokjin looked down and saw he was no longer wearing double knit sweaters and a pair of jeans. They had morphed into a shirt, cotton trousers, and an apron. All these fit him perfectly, and oddly enough, it pleased him. Which was ludicrous, considering the circumstances.
"Hello, Mr. Kim."
Too astonished to gasp, he scrambled to his feet instead. The woman standing before him wore the same set of clothing than Seokjin did. She also wore a secretive smile, which did nothing to improve his mood.
"Where am I?" he whispered.
"Love at Four, a tearoom I run. I'm impetuous and romantic by nature, so sometimes I bring two destined people together early. One way to do it is to exchange their identities. So, here you are, while your destined person is at your place. An unconventional method, I agree, but it wouldn't be fun otherwise."
He stared at her, bemused. The exchanged identities part he could grasp, but it didn't make him any less relieved. If anything, his guts twisted, and the clothes - previously so snug - now felt like an iron band around his chest.
"Who are you? A deity of some kind? Why would you - ?"
"Do this?" One corner of her mouth lifted. "To make each of you live inside the other's skin, literally. Know each other better before you become a couple. That's what a relationship is, you see - the ability to walk in the other person's shoes."
His head was spinning. The scent of tea leaves and mulberry permeated the air, suffocating him. It wasn't the swapped identities that sickened him so much as being pushed into someone else's body against his will. And if the woman had this much power, she might also be dangerous.
"As I was saying," the woman added, "you won't need to search around for your destined person, since they're at your place right now. Meet them there, and you two shall live happily ever after. Or not - it's all up to you. Simple, isn't it?"
He stared at her warily, and she gave him that secretive smile again.
"One more thing. Your destined person is now a student, while you're - " The woman gestured at his clothes, which he now understood to be some sort of a uniform " - this. It's not enough for you two to simply meet. In order to return to your previous states, you two must kiss."
For a moment he thought something was wrong with his ears. "We what?"
"Have you never read Western fairy tales, Mr. Kim?" Her smile disappeared and she looked sober. "A kiss is more than just a physical contact. It brings two lovers much closer together, unlocking ancient powers that can move hearts, even the universe. There! I've left the decision in your hand. Have a magical day, Mr. Kim."
She sketched a little bow, retreated behind the mahogany desk, and he fled.
Once he reached the sidewalk, he skidded to a halt. His stomach heaved, then settled before bile could rise to his mouth. He straightened up, grateful that he at least wasn't dizzy.
Pedestrians and cars passed him by, oblivious to his plight. The sky overhead was the same shade of gray that he had seen through the loft's window. It was a tiny but reassuring detail, a comfort to Seokjin as he tried to catch his breath.
Seems like this is still my birthday, not some other point in time. Then everything should be fine. All he had to do was return home and -
His face burned all the way down to his neck. How the hell do I convince a total stranger that we should kiss? Drag that person into the tearoom so the lady can explain it directly to them? There should be a faster way - perhaps the destined person could find one.
First things first: where was he? Scanning the rows of shops and offices around him, Seokjin recognized the area: it was about five minutes' walk from his address. Thank goodness! The so-called destined person might still be at his place when he got there - but only if Seokjin started moving now.
Just then a blue sedan pulled over beside him. Seokjin was beginning to take a stride when the passenger side door opened. A bulky man in sunglasses sat on the back seat, facing Seokjin.
"Get inside," he said.
"What?" Puzzled, Seokjin turned to him. "No, I can't. Gotta meet - "
From inside his coat, the man pulled out a gun. He leveled it at Seokjin. "Now."
Seokjin's head went cold. His heart clenched, and roaring noises filled his head. The gun didn't waver, and the sidewalk was deserted - a deadly combination.
Should I do as I'm told? Or should I run and yell for help? Deserted as the sidewalk was, someone would surely notice if he crashed down on the asphalt, bleeding from the head. They might even write down the sedan's license plate number, so that the police could track down and arrest the shooter. All this, Seokjin was sure, would be of great consolation to his family as they identified his body at the morgue.
Who is this person whose identity I've assumed? he thought numbly. Are they in some sort of trouble?
"Get in!" the man growled. He was now pointing the gun at Seokjin's face, and Seokjin had no choice but to stumble into the car. He sank onto the back seat, his heart a leaden lump in his throat.
"Hey!"
Someone was running toward them - a man in Seokjin's knit sweaters and jeans. His heart, shrunken with fear, soared a little at the sight. The destined person! he thought, exhilarated. He's here! I don't need to go home to find him!
Then the man with the gun shoved the muzzle against Seokjin's ribs. He reached past Seokjin and banged the door shut. Seokjin got one final, better look at his destined person - tall, lowkey handsome - before the car tore away from the curb.
*
A taxi came into view, and Namjoon hailed it. "Follow that sedan!" he half-shouted. The words sounded surreal to his own ears, and his earlier jab at Hollywood movies echoed around him. He was acting like a typical movie agent, but there was nothing amusing about it.
As the taxi driver stepped on the pedal, Namjoon began to shake. He let the delayed reaction spend itself, then made his body relax. Calm down. Don't panic. Make several plans, now.
The man in the tearoom uniform was the loft's original owner. Namjoon had no doubt of it. The man had been leaving the tearoom when he got accosted by the people in the blue sedan - the same car that visited the tailor's this morning.
As Namjoon had changed into the loft owner, so had the man filled in his position as a government agent. Those people in the blue sedan believed the loft owner was spying on them, so they kidnapped him. An innocent bystander getting caught in the crossfire - the situation I always avoid the most. Dammit!
Ahead of them, the sedan stopped at a red light. While Namjoon's taxi slowed down and also stopped, he racked his brain, sifting through all the information he'd learned about the drug-trafficking ring.
Three months ago, the agency received a tip that the traffickers were meeting with buyers at a factory warehouse. When agents arrived at the warehouse, it was already empty. Either the tip had been false, or the traffickers met their buyers elsewhere. And the blue sedan seemed to be heading toward the factory's location.
This theory bloomed into near-certainty ten minutes later as the sedan drew closer to the factory. When the blue car stopped at the gate, Namjoon got out from the taxi. He waited until the sedan entered the factory compound, then started to move.
On the outside, he might be someone else, but his body should still remember his trainings. He would sneak into the factory, incapacitate guards if necessary, and go to the warehouse. As he jogged on, two things gnawed at the back of his mind: the inability to call for backup, and the worry that the loft owner might get injured.
*
The warehouse stank of grease, and Seokjin trudged into it on legs that had turned to stilts. Behind him, the car driver was pushing the door closed. His partner, the man with the gun, flipped the light switch.
"Turn around," the man - whom Seokjin privately called Moustache - said.
He obeyed, feeling almost physically ill. In the dim yellowish lamplight, the two men loomed even bigger. Without warning, Moustache fired the gun upward. Even silenced, the sound hit Seokjin's head with the force of a small mallet; he winced, then berated himself for the display of weakness.
Moustache pointed the gun at Seokjin's feet. "Tell us what you saw."
"Nothing!" Seokjin nearly shouted. Although his voice didn't quiver, his bowels felt liquid with terror. One wrong answer, and he might end up with shattered knees. "I just work at the tearoom. I saw nothing, I don't know what you mean."
"Where were you going in such a hurry?" the driver intoned.
"Home. To - to pick up something for work. I'm not who you think I am, I swear."
Although the men's eyes were invisible behind their sunglasses, Seokjin could feel their gaze boring into him. They made no response, nor did Moustache lower the gun. Seokjin desperately wished they would let him go, while he also knew how naive he was being.
These men wouldn't simply believe him and show him out. One single shot, and Seokjin would never tell anyone about this warehouse - about them. His family's faces, their smiles, swam before Seokjin's eyes, and his heart lurched inside his chest.
Slowly, with a creak, the warehouse door slid open. The driver looked over his shoulder, and a security guard poked his head in. "Hello," he said.
"What?" the driver rumbled.
"Hello, you two. Are you - are you finished in here?"
The guard sounded stiff, distracted - unnatural. Moustache's reaction was instant; he whirled around just as the door slammed open. Sunlight burst through the gloom, and people in bulletproof vests flooded into the warehouse.
Acting on instinct, Seokjin leaped back and crouched. At the same time, chaos erupted inside the warehouse, a cacophony of hurried footsteps, gunshots, hoarse curses. The noises sounded so close, the clatter of boots a staccato against Seokjin's eardrums. He stayed where he was, head down, heartbeat erratic.
Please don't let anyone shoot me by mistake. Don't let Moustache do it out of spite. Please -
"Sir! Are you all right?"
Trembling, he risked a peek. The man from before - the one in Seokjin's sweater and jeans - was looking at him, wide-eyed and concerned. Seeing him again loosened something inside Seokjin. His body sagged, and he slowly stopped trembling.
"I am," he managed.
The man held out his hand. Seokjin took it, gripping the long fingers like he would a lifeline, and got up. For a second he was swept with a sense of disbelief: Is this over? Is this really, really over?
Across from him, his abductors were kneeling on the floor, hands behind their heads. The people in bulletproof vests surrounded them, holding them at gunpoint. One of those people caught Seokjin's eye.
"Agent Kim!" she shouted. "You good?"
An agent - most likely working for the government - instead of a tearoom employee. That explained a lot. If things had turned out horribly, this discovery would have aggravated Seokjin. As it was, he felt nothing but the desire to fall into bed and sleep until tomorrow.
"I'm good!" he called back. "Sorry, I need to speak with this gentleman - be right back!"
Tugging at the man in his sweater, Seokjin crossed the warehouse floor. Outside, more agents were arriving. Knowing that he wasn't part of them - that his identity was temporary - made Seokjin feel that he was playing a role in a movie. Teenage me would've been absolutely thrilled.
He veered toward one side of the warehouse, then released the other man's hand. Here the noises were subdued, almost unimportant. They stood facing each other as the tension completely left Seokjin's shoulders.
He was safe. The nightmare was behind him. He could go home - after he took care of one minor matter.
Up close, his companion was not lowkey handsome as Seokjin had thought. He was downright mesmerizing, his presence solid, almost domineering. Also, Seokjin could barely take his eyes off the finely shaped face and those full lips.
My destined person, he marveled. Is this what it takes for us to meet? No wonder I keep breaking up with other people.
"Kim Seokjin," he said.
"Kim Namjoon," the man replied. His voice was pleasant, slightly raspy, sending a warm tingle down Seokjin's spine. "They almost didn't let me come here with them, since I'm a civilian - someone they don't even know."
"But you, the real you, are actually one of them."
"Yes. My partner saw the men forcing you into their car. She contacted the other agents, and they got here the same time I did. Lucky for us, for you especially."
Seokjin nodded. "Definitely. By the way - the tearoom lady said we should kiss."
Namjoon went still. Not a muscle twitched on his face; his eyes were thoughtful, almost hooded. Seokjin's mind replayed what he had said, and found that he wasn't embarrassed. What he did feel was anticipation, and that tingle down his spine growing warmer. On any other day, that would have made him curious.
"Is that..." Namjoon hesitated. "Is that how we get back to our own identities?"
"Yeah. She said something about, about - er, us being each other's destined persons? I don't know, I was too panicked."
Which was partly a lie, since he'd heard her clearly enough. And here was one more curious thing: Seokjin wanted that kiss. Wanted to savor the slide of those full lips against his. So odd, considering they'd only met today. Probably just the novelty of this whole destined person thing, he decided.
Namjoon sighed. "This is, by far, the most confusing day of my life. Let's get it over and done with."
He stepped forward and into Seokjin's space. Their faces were now only inches apart; even in the chilly weather, Seokjin could feel Namjoon's breath on his skin. He swallowed and murmured, "Sorry."
"Hm? What are you sorry for? None of this is your fault."
Seokjin was about to answer when Namjoon bent down. He angled his head, giving himself a more comfortable access to Seokjin's mouth. Their lips pressed together; Seokjin closed his eyes as low-grade heat pooled in his belly.
Suddenly he was overwhelmed by the urge to clutch at Namjoon's sweater (his sweater) and pull him closer. To let Namjoon know that, to Seokjin, this wasn't an obligation. He loved Namjoon's mouth on his - and would love to explore more, taste more.
His palm came up to Namjoon's shoulder, then settled there. Namjoon, perhaps startled by the movement, reflexively parted his lips. Seokjin inhaled the air from between them - and the ground beneath his feet was gone.
*
Namjoon was back inside Love at Four, and the music was a current pop-rock hit.
He was once again sitting at the cashier's desk, wearing the tearoom's green and white uniform. The employees were chatting as they tidied up the tables. No new customers had come yet, and the scent of roses was growing faint. Namjoon took a cursory glimpse around the tearoom; Hwang was nowhere to be seen.
Feeling as if he had woken up from an exhausted sleep, he reached for his phone. He typed in the keyword, and the numbers 16:01 popped up. One minute past four: the same time on which Hwang had sent him to Kim Seokjin's loft.
A reset, then. He was back to the time before the swap. The abduction and warehouse raid had never happened, or not yet. Seokjin should be in his loft by now. Seokjin, whom Namjoon had -
His throat went dry. Seokjin, whom I've kissed. The touch of Seokjin's lips - plush yet firm – still remained on his. A little dazed, he raised his fingertips to his mouth, chasing the memory of that sensation.
Each other's destined persons, Seokjin had said. Namjoon's initial reaction had been to scoff, that the term was a way for Hwang to justify her prank. Right, whatever, he had groused to himself. Just make this fast for both of our sakes. He leaned toward Seokjin, aiming for a formal brush of the lips.
What he got instead was a jolt of electricity all the way down to his toes. That never happened with any of his first kisses before, and it left him winded. As the bewilderment ebbed away, he knew he needed more of this - of Seokjin. Needed his arm around Seokjin's waist as they plunged into a deeper, hungrier kiss.
Then Seokjin was holding onto Namjoon's shoulder. A soft moan escaped him, and Namjoon realized that Seokjin, too, was ready for this kiss to no longer be chaste. Whatever was happening, they were both reveling in it.
However, before Namjoon could do anything, the ground shook, and he found himself back at Love at Four.
The pop-rock tune changed into an R&B song. The scent of roses was fading away. With a sigh, Namjoon slumped forward against the desk, waiting for today's stakeout duty to end.
*
Seokjin opened the door on the second knock. After a shared awkward smile between them, he ushered Namjoon inside. The loft was precisely as Namjoon remembered, down to the order of pictures on the wall. For some reason, this made being here feel like home.
"How's it going with you?" Seokjin asked. He was making instant espresso while Namjoon sat cross-legged behind a table. "Everything back to normal?"
"Everything's perfect," Namjoon said. No one else visited the tailor's up until closing time. However, Namjoon's partner had managed to obtain high-res videos of the people in the blue sedan. Soon they would be identified - in Namjoon's book, a delicious win.
Seokjin put the espresso mug on the table. "I wanted to go to that tearoom, and see you," he confessed. "But I was scared those people in the car might be around. One abduction is enough for one day."
"More so if it's your birthday." At Seokjin's stunned expression, Namjoon patted the table. "The cake that was here, with the one candle on it? That was a birthday cake, wasn't it?"
"Oh! Right." With a chuckle, Seokjin sat down next to Namjoon. "I was, um, celebrating alone. Thought it was boring. Then the swap happened."
A silence fell. Wispy steam rose lazily from the espresso mug. Namjoon fidgeted, feeling like a middle school boy on a date. "Seokjin," he began. "This destined persons thing you mentioned...."
"The tearoom lady didn't tell you?"
"She wasn't there when I got back. The employees said she had to go somewhere."
It was Seokjin's turn to fidget. "Um, she did say she's doing this for fun. Messing with our lives and our heads, with that destiny part thrown in, maybe just for the hell of it. That part probably doesn't mean anything."
"So you don't think we're destined for each other?" Hearing the disappointment in his voice, Namjoon blushed. "Sorry, I - that wasn't what - sorry for imposing myself on you - "
Seokjin held up a hand. "Why are you here?" he asked. "Please be honest."
Namjoon gave a delicate cough. "To check up on you. Least I can do, after everything that's happened today."
"Is that all?"
Seokjin's own voice was mild, attentive. It sounded like an invitation for Namjoon to speak up his mind and not be judged for it. That, or Namjoon was being presumptuous. Which one was it? Only one way to find out.
He shifted a little so that they were sitting face to face. "No," he murmured. "No, it's not. I came here because - " Mustering every scrap of courage he had in him, he barreled on " - because, at the warehouse, our kiss ended too soon."
Seokjin's eyes went round, his mouth forming a small O. "Too... soon?" he murmured, his voice awed.
"Uh, yeah," Namjoon muttered, blushing more furiously than before. "At least I, I think so. You're free to, ah, have your own opinion, of course."
"Well, I agree with you."
Namjoon's jaw fell. His ears rang, his insides swooped down low in his stomach. "You - " He snapped his jaws shut. "You do?"
If Namjoon had been blushing, Seokjin's face was aflame in comparison. His ears seemed ready to combust. "I agree!" he repeated, a little too loudly. "It was too short. Maybe we can do it again? But that's also just my opinion, feel free to have your own."
Namjoon was torn between bursting into laughter, breaking into a huge grin, or both. Instead, he moved forward, and closer toward Seokjin. "You sure?"
From bright red, Seokjin's face softened to pink. "Positive," he whispered. "And we'll do it properly, too. For as long as we want."
"Because I'm your destined person and you are mine?"
Those plush lips curved in a smile. "That is indeed what I'm trying to prove," he said. His hand rested lightly on Namjoon's thigh, a promise rather than a tease. "Starting from this."
Gently, Namjoon took Seokjin's chin between his fingers. Seokjin leaned into them, the smile lingering. Destined person or not, this was a blessing Namjoon had never even dared to hope for: someone so beautiful it made his heart skip a beat, gazing at him with such patience and tenderness. Perhaps Hwang had a point, after all.
"Last chance if you're changing your mind," he warned.
"Never."
"Then we'll do it as you suggested - properly, for as long as we want," Namjoon said. With a surge of fondness that surprised even himself, he kissed the lingering smile. "Happy birthday, Seokjin."